


Roots

by lisachan



Series: Leoverse [85]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/M, Lemon, M/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timmy's got a problem with his parents' divorce. Or maybe he's got a problem with his enlarged family. Possibly, he has a problem with his girlfriend, who's also his father's step-sister, or perhaps he's got a problem with the kid he goes crazy about, who's also his own step-brother. <br/>He's got a problem, and maybe it's the Christmas party his father's throwing in a week or so. But maybe it isn't.<br/>Timmy's got a problem, but the real question is not what's this problem about, but how's he gonna solve it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roots

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** This story is a **what if** from the original 'verse. In the canon course of events that followed the beginning of Broken Heart Syndrome, **this has never happened**.  
>  This is also part of a doomed timeline, which would be one of those AU/What Ifs in which Leo and Blaine have been together, if only briefly, but ultimately end up apart.  
> In this story, Blaine and Leo broke up and divorced after marrying, so Timmy's got to deal not only with the issue of divorce itself, but also with the complications that having a split family brings on a kid's life. Blaine got together with Cody, and Cody brought a kid of his own, Alex, whose impact on Timmy's life is simply devastating.   
> (You'll see more of Alex and Timmy together. Stay tuned.)

The word _family_ has had to change its meaning, since the day everything became officially over, but Timmy’s not quite used to that yet. He looks at the papers almost every day, whenever he gets the chance to do it. He doesn’t even know what for. He looks at the words taped in dark ink on the white thick paper of the contract and sometimes he looks at them so intently they completely lose their meaning, their shapes become unreadable, the succession of letters doesn’t have sense, or at least he can’t make one out of it.

 _The spouses have reached an amicable agreement on the terms of their separation._ And then copies of what looks like a thousand forms. Health insurance, legal agreements, children support worksheets, sworn statements and so on. Everything’s kept into a purple file, hidden inside Leo’s closet, in the drawer under his folded hoodies. Took Timmy three hours to find it, the first time he tried to put his hands on it.

He knows almost everything those documents say by heart. That doesn’t mean he understands any of it. And besides, what does that say about him? That he hasn’t got a family anymore. That his fathers broke up and split everything in two, their hearts included. But is that true? Sometimes Timmy thinks he’s got more family that he can possibly stand. And what about his fathers’ hearts? Were them broken beyond mending, were they, really? ‘Cause it doesn’t look like that, now. Sure, there was a time, right after the separation, where they both couldn’t stand to even wake up in the morning. He knows it, ‘cause he was there. But by the time they could actually sit down to discuss the terms of their divorce agreement, almost a year later, most of that sadness was already gone. Blaine had managed to make his relationship with Cody work – he had probably figured it would have been ridiculous, not to mention utterly stupid, to let go of him after basically breaking his marriage over his baby blue eyes and his pretty little ass – and Leo, despite not seeming interested in a serious relationship – now or never – had resumed seeing his friends, had thrown himself head first into his job, had gone to USA tours for the meet and greets his agent organized for him whenever a new book came out and so on.

His parents don’t look heartbroken anymore, and they probably just aren’t. They dealt with whatever they had to deal with, they moved on. Things aren’t easy for them, especially when they find themselves together, but after all they never were, and by now Timmy already figured they never will. Together or not, his fathers always made things hard for one another, that’s just how they work.

But still, what does this say about him? Timmy sits on the walk-in closet floor, the divorce papers scattered around him, and tries and think about it. “Family,” he thinks. He concentrates on the word.

What kind of family does he have? He’s got a father he’s not related by blood with, who took care of him devotedly since the moment he was born and up to his 15 years, and who then left home to run with somebody he had been together for two weeks ages before, breaking up with his other dad, with whom Timmy wasn’t related by blood either but that he had known for almost as long as Blaine. Timmy lived with him, now, and with the twins, the kids his parents has had when they still were together and nothing, nothing seemed bad enough to break them.

That’s who he lives with, but is that family? Is that really it?

It’s not. ‘Cause Blaine lives with Cody, now, and with them there’s Alex.

God, Alex. He’s not ready to think about him, now.

There’s Alex, Cody’s son from his previous marriage, and then there’s Lisbeth, the daughter Cody and Blaine had together.

Is that it now? No, it’s not. ‘Cause then there’s Tana, Leo’s younger sister, the girl Timmy’s been in love with since he was four. And Timmy’s not ready to think any further about her either, Alex’s face already swimming into view every time he closes his eyes and lets himself go.

And that’s it. Yes, now it is. But what does all this say about him? Does it say anything about him at all?

_I’ve got two fathers, one step-father, and four siblings, and I’m in love with one of them. Then I’ve got an aunt, and I’m in love with her too._

Timmy looks down at the papers and tries and make sense out of them. He searches for something in those documents, something that could explain or justify his situation, now. Because it all seemed so easy when his parents were together, and it’s all so hard now that they’re not. Even the things he took for granted, like Tana and his love for her, are uncertain and confusing, now. It wasn’t hard, when he didn’t know Alex. It wasn’t hard when Cody wasn’t in the picture. It wasn’t hard when Lisbeth wasn’t there and Leo didn’t have to live with the thought that Blaine had had a child with somebody else. It wasn’t hard when he didn’t have to travel from one side of the city to the other to be shared by his parents, together with his siblings. Everything felt easy, normal, obvious, and everything felt good.

Now it’s not working like that anymore, and Timmy reads his parents’ divorce papers trying to crack them as if they hid some secret code that, once found out, could solve all the problems in his life, answer all the questions, wipe away every doubt.

But nothing comes out of the pages, nothing different than what Timmy has already read day after day for the last two years. _The spouses have reached an amicable agreement on the terms of their separation._ And, as a result of that, his life is ruined.

*

Alex can’t stand to be next to him. Every time Timmy stays over at Blaine’s place, everything gets incredibly awkward, especially dinners. They always got to sit close to one another because Blaine likes to see “all his children” together, one next to the other on the same side of the table. So Blaine and Cody sit together on one side and Timmy, Alex and baby Lisbeth squeeze themselves on the opposite, with the latter constantly standing up on her high chair, straightening her small arms and curling her chubby little fingers, reaching out for Cody as he leans on the table to feed her.

They make a perfect picture, and Blaine often looks at them all with fond eyes, embracing them with his warm gaze and smiling gently at them all, but Timmy can’t share his father’s feeling because Alex proximity messes with his head so much he can barely control himself when they’re so close.

He met Alex for the first time two years before, when Blaine and Cody settled down together. They moved into the huge two-stores house they’re living in now and Alex, of course, came with Cody. Timmy still remember that night. Walking inside that house, so similar to the one he was living in with Leo, and feeling confused for a moment, lost someplace and sometime where and when his parents were still together and nothing had changed yet, and then he remembers seeing Cody’s small, apologetic smile as he greeted him, that kind of smile that was going to stick with him for the rest of his life, as if he felt the need to apologize to the world for the happiness he had finally found because, to find it, he had to destroy someone else’s, and then Alex appearing from behind Cody’s back, his dark long hair, his huge baby blue eyes, that fair milky white skin, his incredibly small wrists, the straight but incredibly small line of his hips underneath his black jeans, and something exploding inside Timmy’s head, making a mess off him, blowing up everything he knew and arranging everything in a whole new way he couldn’t grow accustomed to for weeks after it had happened.

He should have had to sleep over at his father’s, for that night, it had been arranged to be so, but he just couldn’t. Right after dinner he had asked to be excused, said bye to his dad, awkwardly did the same with Cody too, completely ignored Alex and ran away, back to home, where everything was safe, where he had pictures of Tana scattered everywhere, where he could sit down, close his eyes and think that nothing had changed, that everything was still alright.

Alex was just twelve, then. Timmy was fifteen and he had been in love with Tana since he was six. The only concept he had of love was to see somebody and want to put them on a pedestal, adoring them from the distance knowing it was unlikely for anything concrete to happen. But the moment he saw Alex a different kind of interest burst into him. For the first time, he had wanted to be close to somebody, really close, possibly with no clothes on. It burnt like a fire, consuming him from the inside, and for days he could think about nothing else, despite knowing it was wrong for so many reason he struggled to list them all.

He didn’t know, then, that just a few months later Tana would have finally accepted to go out with him after keeping him on the line for years, complicating an already complicated situation without even knowing the half of it. Right then, all he could think about was Alex, the whiteness of his skin, the depth of his eyes, the shape of his cherry red lips.

Initially, Timmy had thought it all to be in his head. He was sure Alex had gotten nothing about it. How could he, after all? He was only twelve. Timmy remembered his twelve years old self, he only thought about playing soccer, playing videogames and playing with the idea of Tana becoming his wife someday in the future. There was no room in his head for anything more concrete than holding hands, as far as interacting with kids he fancied was concerned.

But then, one day, Alex had kissed him. They were playing some videogame together, in perfect silence. Alex never talked much. Actually, Alex never talked at all, and rarely expressed any emotion beyond a mild interest in anything that could happen. Timmy was always on the edge, whenever they were close, whatever they were doing. He kept throwing alarmed glances at him, as if expecting him to suddenly vanish if he didn’t look at him for too long. Then, all of a sudden, Alex had stopped the game and turned to look at him. Terrified, Timmy had turned around, fixing his eyes on him, watching his every movement. Alex had looked back at him, his eyes blank, apparently emotionless. Then he had stood up on his knees and moved closer to Timmy, placed his hands on his shoulders, squeezed and leant in to kiss him.

Unable to move, Timmy had stood still, his eyes open wide, staring at him as if he couldn’t believe he had done such a thing.

“It was pointless to go on that way,” Alex had said, answering to his silent question. “Do you like me?”

Timmy had backed away, sliding back on the floor, dropping the joystick and reaching the wall, gluing himself against it. He would have happily tore a hole through the wall, if he could, anything to move as far away from Alex as humanly possible. Alex had just stared back at him, frowning a little.

“What kind of a question is that?” Timmy had asked back, his voice shaking.

Alex had stood up and, still sitting on the floor, Timmy had watched him as he got closer and closer, until he stopped, towering over him. “You just answer it,” he had said, kneeling right in front of him.

Timmy had looked at him and had found himself unable to see anything else in the room. It was like all the lights had been turned off, except those pointing right at Alex’s face, illuminating its every detail.

He had swallowed hard. Instead of answering, he had asked “How did you know?”

Alex had casted him a silent glance, and then Timmy had known only a blind man could have missed to notice. And with the knowledge came the certainty he couldn’t keep it for himself anymore, especially not now that Alex had started getting closer on his own accord.

They had gone on with stolen kisses for months, and it had always been Alex who dared pushing things a little too far whenever they settled into a routine that Timmy needed to feel comfortable. They couldn’t find accord on this, mainly because they both stubbornly refused to discuss the situation, but also because they knew that, even if they did discuss it, they wouldn’t have reached an agreement anyway: Timmy ached for some tranquility, and whenever they managed to settle he kept wishing the situation never changed, while Alex seemed to aprioristically refuse the idea of standing still for much too long. Whenever they went on just kissing for weeks without never doing anything else, Alex was always the first to slip his hands underneath Timmy’s clothes, and after then Timmy always needed weeks to get used to the new deal. And when he finally managed to do it, that was the moment Alex pushed boundaries a little too far, kissing his way down his body, trying to get him naked into the clear light of the morning to look at him, rubbing himself against him hoping Timmy would finally catch the message and do the final step who would have made them a couple, if not officially, at least practically.

Alex was thirteen when they had had sex for the first time. He had asked and insisted for it, as usual. Timmy was there for the night, and they shared a room. He had been going out with Tana for almost a year, already, but despite the big change in his life he had somehow refused to end this thing with his step-brother, or better yet, Alex had clung to him so desperately that cutting the rope tying them together had never even become an option for him. 

Whenever Timmy slept over at Blaine’s, they always shared the room, while the twins slept in the other room with Lisbeth. The arrangement had been convenient in more ways than one, especially considering the fact that every time, when night fell and the lights were off and the house was silent, Alex had the habit of slipping out of his bed and into Timmy’s, falling into his arms and resting his head over his chest for hours even when they did nothing else. They mostly made out up until their lips hurt, but there were nights, different nights, when Alex just laid himself down and rested on him, his ear pressed right where Timmy’s heart beat, closing his eyes and letting the regular noise sink into him, lulling him to sleep.

Timmy liked when that happened. The fact that they mostly didn’t speak a word before or after their wild make out sessions always made the whole thing somehow dirty, somehow cheap, and Timmy couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t accept that something like that, too, could answer to the definition of the word “love”, especially when the other example he had, his relationship with Tana, was so very different from the one he had with Alex. So, whenever Alex was just a little bit more cuddly, whenever he showed an even vague interest in him that wasn’t just founded on how and when he could put his hands on him, something in Timmy’s heart felt lighter, and he could bear the thought of being with him more easily.

 _It doesn’t have to be so bad_ , he dared to hope, _Sex doesn’t have to be involved at all costs._

Recently, though, Alex had started to push for more again, and again. He had an unsettling way of dealing with Timmy, he never tried to act as if he wanted something different from sex with him. Whenever they were alone, the first thing he did was stripping, because he knew that, at that point, he’d have had Timmy on himself in no time. It was the quickest, easiest way to deal with it, and Timmy went along with it, because he couldn’t say no, because he didn’t want to say no and it was easier for him too, thinking Alex was mostly responsible of the whole thing.

Alex was aware of that. He knew Timmy blamed him, and he wasn’t bothered by it. He did it on his own accord, after all. He seemed okay with taking over his shoulders the blame of their whole relationship, as long as that managed to get Timmy close to him faster.

He had been okay with it that night too. The moment the lights had gone out, he had moved from his own to Timmy’s bed. Instead of lying down next to him as he usually did, he had sat right on him, straddling him. Timmy had looked up at him, watching as he put his hands on his underpants’ waistband, and then he had closed his fingers around his wrists, stopping him from pulling them down his thighs. “Don’t do that,” he had said, “If you do, I won’t be able to hold myself back.”

Alex had looked down at him, his eyes cold as ice and blank as usual. “Then don’t,” he had said. It was the last they had spoken that night. Timmy had grabbed him by his waist to overturn their position, and once he had been on top of him his brain had literally just shut down. He had leant in to kiss him, thrusting his tongue inside Alex mouth voraciously, and Alex had opened his lips eagerly, letting him in, moaning and whining and thrusting his hips up, rubbing them as hard as he could against Timmy’s.

Timmy had felt himself growing harder, had felt wild shocks of pleasure run up and down his back and had clearly thought that now it was done, it was over, he had no chance of running from it anymore. He had closed his eyes and he had given in to the flashes filling his mind with images, Alex’s white tummy, soft under his lips, Alex thighs closed tightly around his hips, Alex buttocks squeezed between his fingers, marked by the signs of his teeth, his neck red and blue with hickeys, his lips plump and red from kisses, and them together, trapped in that bed forever, bound to repeat this for the rest of their lives, no matter who were them with, how would they feel, where would they move to live.

It was done, it was over with, they were tied together and that was it.

Now a year has passed, things have changed, Timmy’s not officially engaged but he soon will be, but this thing with Alex never changed, and he looks down at his plate filled with pasta he doesn’t want to eat and he can’t help but feel helpless and weak. He was hungry, up to a moment before, but the instant he sat down next to Alex images started flooding his mind once again, and he didn’t want anything else anymore, he wanted nothing in his mouth that wasn’t Alex, his taste, the consistency of his skin and flesh. Blaine and Cody are talking about summer holidays and the Hamptons, Lisbeth’s whining ‘cause she doesn’t really like her carrot flavored baby food, Alex’s eating silently, his eyes fixed on his food as always, and he can’t help but want him, and feel guilty about it.

He knows what’s gonna happen in a few minutes. Blaine and Cody are going to put Lisbeth to sleep and then they’ll sit down on the couch, glued together, clinging to one another as if their lives depended on it, and watch some random movie on tv, and then Alex will start the dishwasher and walk into his room, casting him nothing but a glance and still managing to tell him everything that he needs to say. Timmy will try and try and try to resist, he’ll sit down on the armchair next to the couch and try to focus on the movie, he’ll grow bored by it, he’ll start seeing Alex whenever he’s got his eyes closed and then he’ll finally surrender. He’ll stand up, say goodnight, silently thank the twins for not being here tonight, lifting from his shoulders the responsibility of letting them play a bit before their bedtime comes, and he’ll walk into the room, where he’ll find Alex sitting on the bed. The moment he’ll walk in, Alex will stand up and strip his t-shirt off himself, and then there will be nothing else to do except kiss him.

Instead of letting this happen as it usually does, this time, the moment Lisbeth finishes her food Timmy stands up and asks Cody if he can put her to sleep. He knows Cody won’t say no, because he’s desperate for Timmy to finally accept him as a member of his family, something Timmy stubbornly refused to do for months after his parents’ marriage was over. In fact, Cody’s eyes lighten up and his lips curl into a small smile as he eagerly nods.

Blaine’s eyes fills with pride and joy as he watches him bend over Lisbeth’s high chair to lift her up between his arms. More than the fact that Timmy could hate him, or never accept Cody, Blaine was scared to death by the thought he wouldn’t be able to recognize Lisbeth as his sister, but as always, Timmy thinks quite sadly, Blaine was scared of the most unlikely scenario while he should have scared of something way more obvious, but way more possible. In fact, Timmy never had problems in recognizing Lisbeth as a sister – she’s sweet as sugar, she’s a little angel, never crying, never screaming, always looking at the world with those big, curious pools of clear water she has for eyes – but accepting her was way more easy for him than accept Cody, or forgive his father, two things he’s not even sure he’s managed to do now.

If Blaine knew why he wants to be the one putting Lissy to sleep now, he wouldn’t be as proud and joyful as he is. Timmy loves Lisbeth incredibly much, he’s fascinated by her, he’s drawn towards her, whenever he looks at her he knows that in fifteen years he’ll be ready to break the face of every guy threatening to take her away from them, but it’s not out of love that he wants to spend some time with her now. It’s just because he needs a way out.

He hugs Lisbeth close and she instantly puts her hands on his face, lightly slapping his cheeks. She rarely smiles, but she still manages to be cute, with those chubby pink cheeks and her black, long, curled eyelashes. Timmy smiles at her and she makes bubbles with her lips, spitting a little on him. Instead of getting angry, he laughs, climbing the stairs to the first floor.

Lisbeth’s room is bigger than Alex’s. Her crib’s in the middle of the room, right in between the twins’ beds. They’re empty, now, and Timmy misses his siblings looking at them. If he had them here, he could be able to stay away from Alex a little much longer.

He walks closer to the crib and bends over to put Lisbeth down, but Alex storms into the room – angry, cold eyes insistently fixed on Timmy – and Timmy stops halfway through, turning his head to look at him.

“Give her to me,” he says, walking closer and reaching out for his sister, “Right now.”

“What?” Timmy asks in a whisper, instinctively clinging to the baby girl a little.

“I said _give her to me_ ,” Alex repeats, his arms still stretched out. Lisbeth notices them and leans a little towards him, stretching out her arms too, and Timmy swallows, passing her onto him. Alex clings to his sister dearly, hugging her close. She lifts both her hands and closes her chubby fists around two locks of Alex’s hair, tugging them a little. He doesn’t even seem to notice. He kisses her on her forehead and then lifts his eyes on him. They’re on fire, and Timmy knows what this means.

“Alex, please—”

“You _don’t_ do that,” Alex says, holding his sister tight and then walking to the crib to gently put her down, “You _don’t_ use her to run away from me, you don’t use her _at all_. Don’t you dare.”

“Alex,” Timmy says in a sigh, looking away because he knows he’s lying, “I wasn’t—”

Alex doesn’t even let him finish the sentence. He lifts a hand and slaps him across his face, his fingers open wide, deliberately scratching his cheek with his nails.

“Don’t lie,” he says. His voice doesn’t shake, not even when Timmy looks at him in shock. He knows what Alex turns into when he gets angry, but the sight never fails to terrify him. “You’re a fool if you think you can lie to me without me instantly knowing it, but you don’t have the right to lie to me about my sister, to use her, or to disrespect her.”

“Fuck, Alex, I didn’t mean to— You know that—”

“That it’s hard for you, that I don’t understand, that I shouldn’t do or say what I do or say and all the rest of your bullshit,” Alex looks at him with dark, pitiless eyes. “I don’t care, Timmy. Suffer all you want, run away all you want, you know I’ll always catch you back, just don’t use my sister for it. Love her, and do it sincerely, or ignore her. Anything different from these two options, and I’ll carve your eyes out of your skull with my bare fingers.”

Timmy looks down, clutching his fists. “Always so sure.”

“Yes,” Alex answers. “Always. That’s how I survive.” Timmy looks up at him and holds his breath, and Alex’s gaze softens a bit as he walks towards him. “Let’s not fight,” he whispers, lifting himself up on his tiptoes and brushing his lips against Timmy’s, “Let’s not talk.”

“Alex,” Timmy backs away, putting his hands on Alex’s shoulders to keep him at distance, “That’s the whole problem.”

Alex frowns instantly. His eyes glisten with rage for a moment, but that lights fades away soon, leaving room for the usual blank stare. “Fine,” he says, “As you like.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. The whiteness of his skin flashes in the pale moonlight coming in from the window, and Timmy stops thinking. Alex walks past him and he follows him with his eyes. He stops on the doorstep and half-turns around to look at him, and then walks out of Lisbeth’s room, heading to his own, knowing Timmy will soon follow.

And he does.

*

It’s safer at home, and “home” is one of the few words that never got to change its meaning despite the circumstances evolving all around Timmy. Home’s where he’s always lived since he was a toddler, home is the big, white suburban house where he moved his first steps and said his first words, the unbelievably huge two-floor house his father bought when he moved back to Lima to be with Leo.

Home is the house that Blaine left to Leo when he went away. They didn’t argue about it – _the spouses have reached an amicable agreement on the terms of their separation_ –, there was no need to. Blaine didn’t ask for anything, when he left. He could have asked to bring Timmy along, but he didn’t. He saw him clinging to Leo’s side for dear life and he left him there. He could have asked Leo to leave, since he had bought the house and he owned it, but he saw Leo cling to it for dear life too, and he just moved out.

Because of this, the house remained “home”. Blaine’s new home, the place he moved in when Cody and him decided to give themselves a try, just became “dad’s house” and nothing more. Timmy’s thankful to his father for not ruining this completely, but he also hates him with a fire for ripping himself out of home. Now home’s a place with no daddy. Sometimes the thought forms spontaneously inside Timmy’s mind, and it dawns on him with these exact words. Now home’s a place with no daddy. As if he was still a baby, as if he even needed daddy to be home. He’s old enough not to, he’s strong enough not to, he cares for his own sanity enough not to, but that’s how his mind realizes it whenever he’s back, every single time. Now home’s a place with no daddy. Now home’s a place with just half a family.

Home’s also a safe haven, though, the only place in the world where Timmy feels at peace. He’s surrounded by his own history, the history of his family, of his parents and siblings and relatives, and nothing can hurt him when he’s there.

Home’s where he has his room, with all his books and comics, and his laptop, and his console and all his favorite games. Home’s where he keeps the only photo he owns of his birthmother. Home’s the place he cleans up with Leo and the twins on Sunday after lunch. Home’s the place where he sits down and watch movies. Home’s the place he met Tana for the first time, one of those billionth time she had come to visit her brother while he was recovering from depression. Home’s where they first kissed, where he held her in his arms and told her he wanted to be hers, home’s where Tana leant her head against his and nodded, where she whispered “let’s give it a try, and don’t make me regret it” to his ear. Home’s where they were that rainy afternoon when the twins were at their grandparents’, and Blaine and Leo were out God only knew where, and they sat on the couch watching tv shows silently for hours, it’s where Timmy felt the air crackle for the first time, when he felt that shiver run wildly both on himself _and_ her. It’s where they looked into each other’s eyes and decided it was time. 

It was up those stairs Timmy dragged her, down that corridor he got pushed and hungrily kissed, into that room – his room – that he laid her down on the bed – his bed – and dove into her for the first time.

Home’s where Tana and him became one, not that afternoon, but for years. It’s where they build the foundations of their relationship, and where they consumed it. It’s where they mostly live it. It’s a sacred space.

It’s a space Alex never set foot in. He’s nowhere, there. So when Timmy runs from him, it’s home he runs to.

“‘Morning,” Leo yawns, walking down the stairs wrapped into a pajamas that wouldn’t fit him if he was twice his size, “Aren’t you supposed to be at your father’s?”

“Yeah,” Timmy shrugs, barely looking at him, concentrated as he is in trying to get the damn ball into the damn net in the videogame he’s playing.

“Did you run away again?” Leo frowns, his hands on his hips, tapping his bare foot onto the ground, “Does your father know?”

“If he does, it’s not because I told him,” Timmy shrugs again, and Leo sighs.

“Timmy, this has to stop,” he says sternly, “Either you decide you don’t wanna go anymore, or you decide you do. I’ll be fine with both, but _decide_ already.”

“It’s not as if I don’t wanna be with him,” Timmy instantly turns to look at him, frowning. He hates when Leo starts inquiring about his escapes from Blaine’s house. He can’t tell him and, after more than a year, Leo should have gotten it by now.

“Then _what_ is it?” Leo asks. Timmy turns away and snorts, annoyed.

“I’m hungry,” he says, instead of answering, “You making breakfast?”

Leo’s arms drop in resignation, and he sighs. “Fine,” he says, “I’m making pancakes. Since you’re here, go wake up the twins, at least.”

That’s something he can do with pleasure, so he drops the joystick and stands up, walking up the stairs, heading to the twins’ bedroom, already feeling his lips open up in a clear smile. He loves kids, he feels at ease with them – Leo says it’s because they’re simple-minded as he is, and despite knowing this is supposed to be some sort of affectionate mocking Timmy basically agrees with the notion – and he especially loves all his siblings. It’s so much easier to deal with children, really. They want something from you – care, affection, food, that you help them clean themselves after they went to the bathroom – and they don’t lie about it. They’re physically thankful to you, and they show it clearly, hugging, kissing, throwing their favorite plastic hammer at you much like penguins hit their partners with stones on their heads to let them know they’re loved. They don’t need to send mixed signals, they don’t even know what mixed signals are and even if they did they wouldn’t use them, ‘cause that would mean they’d get what they wanted way slower than they want.

Sometimes he wishes the whole world were made out of children. If his parents had been children, it would have been so much easier to help them make peace after Blaine’s cheating. ‘Cause what kind of a cheating would that have been? He would have kissed Cody on his cheek behind the old oak in the kindergarten’s yard? For how long would have baby Leo held grudge about it? They’d have made peace in a week. Blaine would have made Leo a mud pie and all would have been forgiven. They’d still be together.

Dealing with people is a pain. Grown-ups are stupid and complicated, and that goes for himself too, he knows that. He knows he is. Whenever Alex loses his temper at him, he knows it’s exactly because of that, for Alex acts like children do, he wants something – he asks for it, he needs something – he gets it, and when Timmy looks away and runs off he’s acting like most adults do, and Alex can’t stand it just like Timmy himself can’t.

Before entering the twins’ room, Timmy stops in front of the door and takes a deep breath. Alex isn’t supposed to be here, in his head. He must keep him out of it. He needs it, he needs to get him out of his system for a bit because he knows in a few hours Blaine will call him and ask him “aren’t you going to come back?”, and his voice will break a little in that way that only Timmy hears, and Timmy’s heart will sink, and he’ll have to go back, and Alex’s going to be there, and he must be ready to face him. He’s never ready to face him, when he thinks too much about him. The thought of him makes him overwhelming.

Once he calmed down, he finally walks in. The room is silent and sunk in darkness. The twins are sleeping peacefully on that contemporary art sculpture depicting a tree they have as a bed. Harper’s sleeping composedly on her tummy, her face turned on the pillow and her thumb stuck in her mouth. Logan’s sleeping face up, his mouth open, drooling and whining every now and then. His rounded belly moves up and down with each and every deep breath he takes, and Timmy smiles getting closer to the bed and kneeling in front of it.

“If you’re not awake in five seconds,” he says with a smile in his voice as well as on his lips, “I’m gonna eat all the pancakes and leave you with nothing.”

Logan’s the first to open his eyes, as always way more pressed by the thought of food or lack thereof than his sister is. “No,” he whines as he rolls on the bed, standing on all fours, “You’re mean.”

Harper wakes up too, blinking a little. She looks up at him and frowns, her small pink lips curling into a concerned pout. “You’re back,” she says. 

Timmy turns to her and smiles gently, nodding a bit. “Did you miss me?”

Logan nods eagerly, already forgetful of his vile threat of before. Harper doesn’t move, she just looks at him, her eyes so serious she looks older than her age. “Did dad and daddy fight?” she asks then, still worried. She still remembers the last time it happened. She didn’t saw nor hear anything, of course, Blaine and Leo would have never fought in front of the children, but she remembers the consequences that fight had on her life, because she wasn’t allowed to go at Blaine’s place for two weeks after that. So, every time she catches Timmy home when he should be elsewhere, she instantly thinks that’s the reason, even though, after that time, Leo never dared to forbid them to go to Blaine again, no matter how badly they could have fought.

“No, Harp,” he reassures her, shaking his head, “Everything’s okay with dad and daddy. I just missed you all and wanted to come home.”

 _And here I go_ , he thinks, his eyes darkening, _I’m doing it again. Making up excuses for running away from Alex. Using my siblings to clear my conscience._

“Mh,” Harper says, studying him silently for a moment. Then her lips open in a little smile and she nods, “Okay.”

Timmy takes them both in his arms and they cling on him like little monkeys on a tree, laughing in fear and excitement when Timmy jumps down the stairs skipping three or four steps at a time.

“Don’t do that, Timothy, please,” Leo says, holding out his arms the moment he sees him landing safely on the floor, with his siblings yelling like little Tarzans, “You know it’s dangerous.”

“Come on, you know they’re safe with me,” he says, but he does lean in to let one of the twins pass to Leo’s arms. Predictably, it’s Logan.

“Daddy, I’m hungwy,” he says, clinging to his father’s neck.

“It’s hung _r_ y,” Harper corrects him, settling more comfortably in Timmy’s arms.

“Leave your brother be, Harp,” Leo tells her with a small smile, “Or one day you too are gonna be bad at something, and he’ll take advantage of it and mock you to death.”

Harper pouts, wrapping her small arms around Timmy’s neck and sticking out her tongue. “Is this how you wanna educate her?” Timmy laughs, following his father to the kitchen, where the table already set and covered in food awaits for them.

“Give me a break,” Leo yawns, sitting down and blindly searching for his cup to start mixing milk and coffee in it, “I’ve been up ‘til 4am to get the third chapter straight.”

“Is the novel coming out fine?” Timmy asks, interested, pouring himself some orange juice.

“Of course, it’s awesome. But it needs time, it’s a tough one. Speaking of which,” he adds, dipping his face into the mug and drinking, “Would you mind getting the kids to school? Since you’re here…”

“Sure,” Timmy shrugs, “I don’t mind. You busy?”

“I wanna wrap up chapter three and get to at least half of the fourth,” Leo answers, “I’m already late, anyway, and these days are crucial. If I wanna get Mark off my back, I’ve gotta work harder.”

Since the divorce, Leo has been swimming through his life mostly behind the screen of his personal computer, lost in his stories. In the beginning, he wrote almost furiously. Nothing he wrote made sense, they were just long streams of consciousness filled with anger and regret he didn’t want to show anybody. Mark, his agent, had insisted on reading them. “They’re violent,” he had said, “They’re worth publishing exactly like they are, rough and raw. But if you say no, I won’t insist.” Leo had said no. Mark hadn’t insisted.

In time, Leo got better. He put those stories aside and went back to novels. “You cannot imagine what a relief it is,” he said once, sharing a beer with him on the porch, “To go back to talk about people who aren’t me.”

Timmy felt his heart ache as if somebody was squeezing it in his hand, and didn’t investigate any further.

For the last six months, Leo’s been writing sci-fi. He said he wanted to try it, that it was the only genre he hadn’t tried yet, and he started writing this thing about aliens sharing a planet, an alien kid ending up in the care of a human guy much older than he was. Timmy read the first chapter, and instantly knew the man was Blaine. The kid is nothing like Leo, or at least nothing like the Leo he knows, but the man’s his father, there’s no mistake about it. Leo described his every move so perfectly it’d be impossible to take him from somebody else.

Timmy wonders if Leo knows. If using him as the main character and hero of the story was a choice or an automatism. When he talks about it, Leo doesn’t seem aware of it, but after all Timmy knows that, even if he was, he’d never show it. So it’s impossible to guess.

The phone rings, interrupting Leo as he goes on about some researches he’s gonna have to do about amphibians for a race he wants to introduce in chapter five. He stands up and walks to the phone. He moves swiftly and quickly, as if his feet didn’t even touch the ground. That’s another change Timmy noticed after the divorce: since then, Leo’s been living on a different level of existence. He’s evanescent like an apparition, he barely makes a sound when he moves. He rarely goes out, and only when strictly necessary. He sees his friends, but he mostly receives them at home, and when he’s not around he’s always in his studio, behind his computer, writing and writing non-stop for hours every days, for days every week. He basically never stops except when he has to physically do something else that keeps him out of that room.

That’s how he heals himself, Timmy thinks. As long as he’s not hurting, it’s fine.

“Timmy,” Leo says, holding the receiver out for him, “It’s your father.”

Timmy nods and stands up, walking closer to the phone to take the call. In the back of his mind, Leo’s words swim into view and then fade away, disappearing into nothingness.

It’s always “his father”. It’s never Blaine.

*

When he sees Tana, the first thing he does is kiss her. He kisses her wildly, passionately, biting at her lips, searching for her tongue, thrusting his own into her mouth. He kisses her as if he hadn’t seen her in years, he kisses her as if she was water after centuries of thirst. She chuckles against his lips and pulls away, dragging him inside the house and looking around to make sure her parents are someplace else.

“What is it,” she asks, “You had a wet dream about me, tonight?”

“I have one every night,” he says, and pulls her in for another kiss. He’s lying, but she knows. It’s just playing around, and it doesn’t hurt anybody.

“Sure you do,” she answers in an amused chuckle. She pulls away again and Timmy looks at her, he looks at her and as always, when he sees her, he feels faint with how much he likes her. She’s wearing shorts and a simple black tank top, but she look so good she almost seems edible. Timmy decides to test appearances and leans in, taking a bite of her neck. She laughs and slaps him on his nape, but doesn’t push him away. “How come you’re so needy?”

“When aren’t I?” he asks back, and she has to admit he has a point.

“Still,” she insists, passing her caramel fingers through his hair when he leans against her and keeps biting his way down her neck, “Is everything alright?”

Timmy looks down at her golden skin marked with the traces of his teeth, inhales her soft peachy scent and feels the ticklish sensation of her long black hair brushing against his nose and, as always, he contemplates the possibility of telling her. About everything. About Alex.

Tana and him didn’t have the easiest, nor the most obvious relationship. She’s older than him – between them, there’s more or less the same age difference that goes between him and Alex – and she couldn’t stand him as a kid. He was always trotting around her, trying to get her attention in the silliest and most annoying ways. He was six and he had never seen such a beautiful creature before her. Tana was tall for her age, slim, and always wrapped in princess-like dresses that didn’t fit her personality at all but looked so good on her people weren’t able to look away when she strolled down the streets with her tiny hands into her fathers’. Everybody was convinced she’d end up wanting to be a model, or an actress, but she was never interested in such things. She wanted to play soccer, bless her.

They started hanging out together more when Timmy started playing soccer too. By imitation, of course, but Blaine felt that it was good for a kid to be involved in sports of some kind, so he let him try whatever he wanted, and Timmy tried them all. But soccer was his favorite, ‘cause he and Tana had put up a mixed team for the juniors tournaments, and by playing for the same team they got to spend so much time together Tana ended up seeing him more than his own parents.

The fact that they were more or less related never bothered Timmy. There wasn’t any common blood between them, after all. Leo had been adopted by Tana’s parents just like he had been by Blaine. And even if he _had_ been Blaine’s real son, they wouldn’t have any direct connection anyway. She’s just his adoptive father’s sister. That makes her his aunt, officially, but he’s never looked at her that way. Tana never was anything but the woman he wanted to spend his whole life with. He had found love in her the moment he had seen her for the first time, and that had never changed, despite how many times she had rejected him for the most various reasons.

That hasn’t changed even now, he tells himself as he drags her upstairs, to her bedroom. That hasn’t changed, it _hasn’t_ , he tells it and repeats it to himself again and again, trying to push Alex’s face out of his mind.

Alex is something different. He doesn’t feel for Alex what he feels for Tana. She makes him feel safe. She’s something he’s sure about. Christ, he’s never been surer of anything else in his life. She’s the one. He knows. She’s always been. He has always known. Way before Alex came, she was already there. She was, she is, she will be. He can’t let go of her. Not after all these years, not after sharing so much with her, not after all his dreams and projects, all the time spent fantasizing about what would have been to finally become her boyfriend, then her fiancée, then her husband. The house they’d buy in the suburbs, how many kids they’d have, how many dogs.

No, he can’t let go of her. He can’t even contemplate the thought. Not for anybody, not for Alex. It doesn’t matter how Alex makes him feel, the hold he has on him. It’ll pass, it’ll go away. Someday, somehow, Timmy’s sure he’ll grow out of it. He will never grow out of Tana. He will never leave her. The mere thought makes his head ache. That’s not an option, it won’t happen.

He buries himself deep inside her and tries to forget about everything. Anything that isn’t her isn’t worth his time, right now, and that includes Alex.

Then why does his face keep haunting him between the flashes of Tana’s body? Why does he still hear his voice in Tana’s moans? Why does he feel his skin on hers, why does her eyes hide his inside?

He comes hard inside the condom, Tana’s hands all over him, and they feel like Alex’s. Everything about her feels like Alex, and Timmy opens his eyes wide and his heart skips a bit when he realizes it isn’t Tana he just made love with.

*

Tana leaves him in front of Blaine’s house a few hours later. It’s way past dinner, but after all, when his father asked him if he wanted to come back, he just promised he’d be there in time to go to sleep. It’s basically bedtime, now. It’s not as if he lied.

He kisses Tana on her lips and she tells him they’ll see each other tomorrow. “I need a dress for the Christmas party,” she says, “And you’re gonna help me pick it up.”

 _The Christmas party_ , he thinks, _What Christmas party?_

And then it dawns on him, hitting him hard. But he doesn’t wanna think about it now. He’s happy and it’s probably late enough to find Alex already asleep when he walks into the bedroom. Any thought concerning the suicidal Christmas party Leo’s gonna throw for both sides of the family in a little more than a week can be procrastinated until tomorrow. It can wait.

He walks inside the house, and everything’s silent. There’s only a table lamp on in the whole sitting room, and there’s a note underneath it. It’s his father’s. “I waited for you as long as I could, but I kept falling asleep on the armchair, so I went to sleep. I hope you really come back, and that you’re still here in the morning. I think we need to talk. I love you, son.”

Timmy feels his heart clench to the thought of sitting down and talking with his father. He doesn’t know what he’d tell him, but he knows what Blaine will ask. He’d ask why he runs away, why he keeps coming if it’s just to run every time.

Timmy’s not sure the answer he’d give would be the one his father were expecting. He doesn’t even know if it’d be the one he’s expecting from himself.

He turns the lights off and walks upstairs. Alex’s bedroom’s light is off too, and he breathes out, relieved. He opens the door trying not to make it squeak and he spots the dark outline of Alex’s body lying down on his bed. He breathes out again and concedes himself a smile as he closes the door behind his back and takes his shoes and clothes off, sliding underneath the sheets in no time.

He has just closed his eyes and he’s about to prepare himself to sleep when he hears his voice.

“You never learn, do you?”

He instantly sits up and turns around. Alex is sitting on his bed too, leaning on his elbows. He’s looking at him. In the darkness of the room, Timmy can’t see his eyes, but he can feel them well enough.

“I thought you were asleep,” he says, trying to keep his voice low.

“I figured,” Alex nods. He shifts on the bed, sitting on the edge now. His skin is so white it almost glows in the pale blue light of the moon. “Would you have walked in if you thought me awake?”

Timmy tries to put up some convincing lie quickly. Yes, of course he would have come in. What difference did it make if Alex was awake or asleep? It’s not as if he cares.

“No,” is the only thing that comes to his mouth.

Alex nods slowly. “I figured that too,” he says. Then he stands up and walks to Timmy’s bed. He stops by its side and looks down at Timmy. He’s close enough to see his eyes, now. They’re two deep, dark pools of nothingness. Timmy can’t read them, they speak a different language than him and he never learnt how to translate it. “I’m gonna kiss you,” Alex says in a low voice.

Timmy doesn’t answer, but a voice inside his head is begging Alex please to be quick about it, because he’s dying to have his taste on his lips. And Alex leans in, places a hand on Timmy’s shoulder and presses his lips against his, and Timmy closes his eyes and for a moment he hopes to see Tana’s face, ‘cause that would at least compensate what happened before, but it doesn’t happen this time. There’s no substitution. He can only think of Alex, he can only smell, touch and taste him, he’s everywhere, he’s overwhelming, he’s everything in the world.

Timmy opens his eyes and Alex is but a few inches away from him, his eyes dark with desire, his lips wet, barely swollen. “Will you keep running forever?” Alex asks.

Timmy would like to tell him he won’t, but he knows that’s not gonna happen anytime soon, probably never. “I will,” he says then, nodding.

Alex’s expression doesn’t change. “I don’t mind,” he says, before descending on him like an avalanche.

It’s over too soon, and it couldn’t have been over soon enough. Timmy feels himself get softer and slip out of Alex’s body, and then Alex lies down next to him, his breathing heavy, his hair a mess, dirty with his own orgasm, still sticky from Timmy’s between his legs. They didn’t use a condom. Timmy thinks about it. They didn’t use a condom. They had them. They’re in the drawer of his nightstand. They could have used one, but they didn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” Alex asks in a low voice, staring at the darkness of the ceiling.

“The Christmas party,” he says, making up the lie as quickly as he can despite the confusion reigning undisputed over his mind.

Alex turns to look at him and arches an eyebrow, and Timmy knows he knows he’s lying. Luckily, he chooses not to call him out on that, and goes with it. “Me too,” he says, “Dad says your father’s gonna invite everybody. Including us.” He turns to look at Timmy again and his lips curl into a wicked smile. “You don’t want me there, do you?”

Timmy holds his breath as his eyes widen. It’s the first time he sees Alex smile like this and he knows he should be careful, now, he should choose cleverly what to tell him, because there’s trouble in those eyes, trouble on those lips, and he’s not sure it’s trouble he’d be able to survive.

His head moves independently from his own will, shaking a little right and left. No, he doesn’t want him there. The mere thought terrifies him. He doesn’t want him there. Don’t come, Alex.

Alex’s smile widens a bit. “Then I’ll come,” he says.

They don’t share the bed, for that night.

*

Breakfast has been mostly silent, especially on Timmy and Blaine’s part. While, at least, Cody tried to make conversation, and Alex got very close to show signs of almost human functional behavior when his sister tugged at his pajamas’ shirt and asked for some attention from him, both Timmy and Blaine remained quiet, only speaking when they were asked about something and moving as if trying not to make a sound.

The prolonged silence has affected Timmy’s voice. He’s sitting in front of his father, now, in the kitchen. Cody’s already busy with the chores and Alex is unwillingly but dutifully helping him out, while Lissy takes a nap, and all Timmy thinks about is that his throat aches, and that he doesn’t wanna talk because he knows that, when he will, his voice will come out all weird and shaky and low for lack of use.

He used to love Sunday mornings, before the divorce. They’d all sit around the kitchen table and Leo would make tons of food for them, and they’d eat slowly, talking about random things, taking care of the twins and listening to them as they tried to tell their shared weird dreams about jelly worlds and cotton candy dragons.

Sunday mornings are different, now. They’re awkward, like this, at best. They’re excruciatingly painful at worst, like when he’s at home and Leo wakes up in a bad mood and his eyes are dark and his skin too pale and he wanders through the kitchen in silence, moving like a robot out of habit and inertia, and nothing seems funny enough to cheer him up. And Timmy tries, he tries so hard. He’s been trying since the day Blaine went away, he remembers his first thought not to be about his dad leaving, not having him in the house anymore, seeing him less often, sharing him with somebody else’s kids. He remembers his first thought to be “but I have to try and make Leo feel better. I have to, it’s my responsibility”. That’s the main reason why he didn’t leave home. Leo’s eyes kept him there, the vague but pressing knowledge he might have not survived if left there alone with just the twins.

For the first time today, though, he looks at his father’s face now and he wonders, why didn’t he think the same about him? Why didn’t he think he had to stick with him, to make him feel better? Was that because he was leaving, because it was his fault? And then Timmy didn’t think he _deserved_ to be helped at all in coming out of a nightmare he had crafted on himself with his own hands?

Blaine’s got sad eyes as he looks at Timmy. He notices, and with that comes the notion of having forgotten the last time he’s seen his dad’s eyes smile. When he left home, that light he always had and had never lost disappeared forever. It was as if somebody had turned it off from inside him, something quick, sudden. A quick burn that didn’t left room for any other try to rekindle it.

Maybe, he thinks, that’s why he never went to live with him. He thought his father was a lost cause, while Leo somehow still gave him hope.

Or maybe he was just scared to leave home too, to leave family, to leave his nest. Maybe because he knew Blaine would have never left if he hadn’t been forced to, and how pleasant could the world be if his father, his strong father, the man he had looked up to as if he was a superhero all his life, didn’t want to step out into it if not because he just couldn’t do anything else?

Timmy clenches his fists on the table, looking away from his father, avoiding his eyes, those sad, melancholic eyes. He keeps making excuse for himself, he keeps choosing things telling himself stories. I do it for Leo, I do it for the twins, I do it for Lissy, I do it for Tana, I do it for whoever the fuck he’s got on the long list of name he can pick up from to cover his own ass.

He’s never done anything in his life for his father, and that’s only because it was never convenient for him. He’s never done anything for anybody, he’s always done things only for himself. 

“I just wanted to tell you,” Blaine says in a soft, low voice, “That it’s alright.”

Timmy looks up suddenly, feeling his eyes sting. “What?” he asks in a shaky voice.

Blaine smiles kindly, tilting his head a bit. “That you run away,” he says, and nods. “I know why you do it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Timmy, please,” Blaine reaches out for him, patting the back of his hand with his own, “You don’t need to lie. It’s fine. I know this is all very hard on you, and I’m sorry about it. That’s why,” he straightens his back up a bit, looking down and clearing his throat, “I will understand, if you decide you want to stop coming here. Leo and I talked about it, and I told him it’s fine. If that’s what you want.”

Blaine never calls Leo “your father”. He never calls him anything but Leo.

_The spouses have reached an amicable agreement on the terms of their separation._

Timmy clenches his teeth, swallowing down his tears. He can’t afford to cry, not now. He looks at Blaine and, for the first time in his life, he sees his fragility, and he wants to protect it. His father looks like he’d shatter if he got touched just a little bit harder, and the thought makes Timmy hurt so deep it almost seems as if pain was trying to pierce a way out of his body to escape on the outside.

“Daddy,” he says, forcing a smile on his lips and looking up at him, “I’m fine. I’m just a little weirded out at this whole Christmas thing. I’m sorry if I made you worry. You’ll see, everything will be okay again once it’s past.”

He stands up and smiles again, he turns around and leaves the kitchen, and he’s grateful for the fact that his father renounced to ask him, if that was the problem, then why has he been running away since the beginning?, because he knows he can’t take this mask up for much too long. His smile falters and disappears the moment he’s out of the kitchen, his lips twisting into a painful grimace as he runs up the stairs.

He prays for Alex not to be in the bedroom because he couldn’t stand him now, and he’s relieved when he doesn’t find him there. He shuts the door behind himself and falls on the ground next to the bed. Holding his knees close to his chest and his head between his arms, he silently starts to cry, his shoulders shaken by sobs and his chest hurting for the effort he puts in trying to keep his whining down. He feels like a little boy, but he’s helpless enough not to care, for now. He never cried like this during the divorce. He had to keep himself strong. He had to keep himself up. For Leo. For Leo, he kept telling himself. For himself, honestly. He had to keep himself together, he had to keep himself strong because if he had let himself go back then he’d have fallen to pieces and nobody would have been able to stitch him back the way he was before. Much like his parents’ marriage.

The door creaks open and he lifts his tear-stained face, his heart skipping a beat. It’s Alex, and he’s looking at him from the doorstep, one hand still on the handle, half his body in, the other half out of the room. His eyes are dark and unreadable as usual, but wide and a little surprised, and his lips are closed tight in a troubled line. “What happened to you?” he asks, his voice strangely feeble, a soft whisper flying through the thick silent air of the room and landing on Timmy like a blanket.

A desperate moan escapes his throat and he starts crying again. He doesn’t even find the strength to tell him what’s going on, how guilty he feels, how sorry he is for everything that happened, that’s happening, that will surely happen. He feels like his heart had been collecting tears for years, now, and now it broke open, and there’s a flood running through him, and he can’t stop it.

Alex’s hand jerks closed around the handle and his eyes grow a little wider, but then he seems to take a hold of himself and his expression turns more serious, controlled. He walks in and closes the door behind his back. He kneels next to Timmy, opens his arms and welcomes him against his chest. Timmy wraps his arms around Alex’s thin waist, he hides his face against the curve of his neck and muffles his tears against his white skin.

It feels like it goes on for hours. Timmy doesn’t mind.

*

Leo did a great job with the house. It’s decorated the way they used to decorate it when Blaine and him were still together. In the last week Timmy helped him out a bit, but clearly Blaine must have talked to Leo to tell him about their little chat in the kitchen, because Leo didn’t ask for much and, whenever Timmy offered to help, he kept repeating it was okay, that he could do it alone, if Timmy wanted to help he could go play with the twins so they would stop screaming like eagles.

Everybody’s here, and as Timmy sips at his sparkling wine and looks around at the members of his enlarged family hanging out with one another – Annie talking with Cody, his grandfather Kurt trying to make conversation with Alex, everybody fussing stupidly around Lissy and the twins – he can’t help but think back at the short conversation he had with Leo yesterday night, sitting on the couch in front of the incredibly tall Christmas tree he bought for the occasion and decorated with everything he could put his hands on.

“I know it’s hard for you, T.T.,” Leo said, his eyes fixed on the tree, not even pretending to be trying to smile. “You don’t have to be there, if you don’t want to.”

Timmy turned to look at him, to the fine, straight line of his profile against the flickering lights of the tree. “But do _you_ want to be there?” he asked, reaching out for him and holding his hand into his own.

Leo turned to look at him, a faint smile curling his lips upwards. “You don’t understand, Timmy,” he explained, “There’s nothing I want more in the world. I know you all think it’s unhealthy and awkward and that I shouldn’t do it, but I want to. I need it.”

“But it’s gonna be painful,” he insisted, squeezing his hand.

Leo laughed, shaking his head. “And, what, now it isn’t?” he asked back. Then his smile turned softer again, and he brought a hand over Timmy’s, patting its back lightly much like Blaine had done during their last conversation. “I don’t expect you to understand, kiddo. In fact, I stopped expecting anybody to understand when I was fifteen. Your father—”

“He’s Blaine,” Timmy stopped him, frowning a bit, his heart beating too fast.

A little surprised, Leo looked at him for a long time, and then smiled gently. “No, he’s not,” he said, shaking his head, “He’s your father. Blaine was somebody I had, and don’t have anymore. It’s better to think him lost. It’s better to think him de—”

“Don’t say it!”

“It’s better to think him dead.”

Timmy closes his fingers tight around the flute, but lets go when he feels the crystal creak under his fingertips. 

“Dude,” Adam approaches him, making his glass clink together with his own and then leaning with his back against the wall like he’s doing, “Some party, huh?”

Timmy offers him a faint, tired smile, and Adam smiles back, lifting a hand to ruffle his hair. Timmy knows he wasn’t alright with this party, like apparently everybody except Leo and Blaine. The day after Leo told him, Adam and Annie came to visit together, sat down on the couch and asked him please to rethink the whole thing and forget about it. “It can’t be safe,” Annie said. “It’s not healthy,” Adam added. Leo didn’t care about any of that, and went on with what he wanted to do exactly as he had done for the rest of his life up to that moment.

“At least,” Timmy says, “Nothing bad happened, yet.”

“Yeah,” Adam nods, “I guess as long as nobody ends up killed we could call it a success,” he sighs, and then turns a curious look around, “Where’s Leo, by the way? Wasn’t he going to bring appetizers? I’m starving.”

Timmy chuckles, moving away from the wall and putting his flute down on one of the small rounded tables Leo scattered all over the sitting room. “I’ll go check on him, maybe he needs help,” he says, and then walks down the corridor, to the kitchen where he knows Leo will be. Leo’s the kind of guy who prefers attending parties without being directly involved in them. The kitchen is his natural element, when it comes to this. He can spend the majority of his time there, preparing food and drinks, and only show up to bring them to the others, so nobody will talk to him, nobody will ask questions.

A sad but affectionate smile blooms on Timmy’s lips when he reaches the kitchen, but when he takes a peek inside he freezes on the spot, his arms down his sides, his eyes wide open.

Blaine and Leo are hugging behind the table. Blaine’s got his arms tightly wrapped around Leo’s shoulders, and Leo’s clinging to the back of Blaine’s sweater, his face pressed hard against Blaine’s neck, Blaine’s mouth pressed strongly against his hair. They don’t move, they don’t talk, they barely seem to breath. Timmy can’t see his father’s expression, but Leo’s is pretty revealing. All his features are relaxed, his eyes are closed, he’s got his lips parted as if he was breathing in and out as much Blaine as he could before it’s over. 

But what hits Timmy the most isn’t the hug itself, or how intimate it seems, and not even how used they seem to share a moment like that. It’s something else, the overwhelming knowledge of it being something they concede themselves only because they know it’s inconsequential, it won’t have any effect on their life. They give in to the hug and make it as close and desperate as they can only because they know it’ll break eventually, that they’ll part, they’ll go back to their houses, their usual lives, lives in which Blaine barely exists anymore for Leo, lives in which Leo’s name brings a veil of indelible sadness to Blaine’s eyes, a veil that grows thicker and thicker by the day and threatens to make him blind.

If he didn’t feel it, Timmy would dare to hope they could get back together, because nobody who feels the need to hug somebody else this way can really be apart from that person.

But he feels that, and there’s no space in that hug for any childish fantasy about divorcing parents making peace and marrying again. It’s done, it’s over with, Timmy lost it, he can’t have it back, nobody can.

_The spouses have reached an amicable agreement on the terms of their separation._

Is this amicable?, Timmy asks himself, tears streaming down his face as he barely manages to contain the sobs, is this an agreement? is this even a separation?

Leo’s the first to pull away. He keeps his hands on Blaine’s chest and smiles a bit sadly at him, asking him how he feels. Blaine lets out a small chuckle and wipes away a tear from under his own eye. He’s growing old, his daddy, Timmy thinks as his chest tightens and hurts. He’s growing old and he can barely stand the weight of his own heart.

Timmy looks down, bites his lips to the point of cutting them and clenches his fists to the point of getting cramps to his fingers, and desperately thinks he needs Alex, now. His whole skin itches to feel his soothing hands. He wants to hold him now, he feels his throat ache with tears of need to the mere thought.

He imagines that’s the way his parents feel when they want to hug each other that bad. But he can’t afford to turn himself and Alex into them. He’s not gonna be the one who secretly holds onto the person he loves during parties or in the rare occasions they’re together just because he didn’t find the guts to admit that, despite everything and all the fucked up shit that had been going on between them, he still wanted to be together.

He remembers Blaine trying and trying to reach out for Leo, after cheating on him. Begging him to talk, to let him explain, to let him apologize. Too hurt by what had happened, Leo had kept shutting the door on his face, and in time Blaine had simply given up because he didn’t have any more heart to give.

Timmy won’t be the one who keeps shutting the door. He won’t let Alex reach the point of having no more heart to give.

He lifts his face and wipes his tears off his eyes, he leaves his parents to deal with their own fucked up shit because it’s not his responsibility. It’s just not. He doesn’t have to make them happy, he doesn’t have to mend their hearts, he doesn’t have to make things work for anybody but himself.

He turns around and walks back into the sitting room, where everything’s going on exactly as it was when he left it. He searches around for Alex, but he can’t find him. He sees Tana, instead. She’s sitting down on the couch and Adam’s by her side, they’re clearly talking sports and having so much fun Timmy doesn’t even try to get close to her. She turns and sees him, she smiles gently at him and waves her hand mid-air to say hi. He smiles back at her and waves too, but then she turns to talk with Adam again and Timmy decides to leave her be. There’s no point talking to her right now. He’s got just one thing to tell her, and it can wait for after Christmas, it can wait until it’s over. It can’t wait much more, but that, it definitely can.

*

He finds him outside in the garden, and he didn’t even think he could be there, ‘cause it’s snowing.

“Alex!” he yells, running towards him. He’s wearing his jacket, but it’s still clearly too cold for him, and Timmy rushes to take his scarf off and wrap it around his neck. “What are you doing out here?! It’s snowing.”

“I hadn’t noticed, thank you,” Alex answers, arching an eyebrow. Then he looks at Timmy and he must notice something, because he sighs and gives up on his usual behavior, leaning better against the wall as he crosses his arms behind his back. “Your grandfather wouldn’t leave me alone,” he says, “He kept asking me questions about school and friends and so on… I mean, not that I mind, but I feel out of place enough as it is without him trying to make conversation at all costs.”

“Maybe he just felt awkward and wanted to involve you so it wouldn’t be as weird for you to be there,” Timmy shrugs, standing next to him. “It’s different for Lissy, she’s easier to deal with and everybody loves her ‘cause she’s so cute.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to remind me,” Alex says, “I know, I love her too.”

Timmy sighs, passing a hand through his hair. If he ever thought this could be easy, he was wrong. “Listen—”

“No, you listen,” Alex says. Timmy shuts up abruptly and, turning to look at him, Alex probably realizes he’s been too harsh, ‘cause he blushes a little and his eyes soften. “I mean, I’ve got something to tell you. I’m not good at words, so just shut up and listen, please.” Timmy swallows and nods, looking back at him, but Alex instantly averts his eyes, looking at the falling snow covering the front yard, mixing with the green of the grass and the deep blue of the thick cloth that covers the kids’ pool. “When I first saw you, I knew you’d be trouble.”

“How ironic,” Timmy can’t help but chuckle, but he instantly stops when Alex turns to glare at him.

“I said shut up,” he barks. And then he sighs and looks away again. His skin is so pale that the light blush of his cheeks stands out twice as much. “I knew you’d be trouble _to me_ , ‘cause, you know, you’re not as good as you think you are at handling things.”

“About that—”

“God, didn’t you hear I just told you to shut up?!” Alex yells at him, slapping him on his shoulder. “See, that’s the whole thing, with you. You don’t _listen_. To anybody! Let alone yourself. It’s so fucking hard to reach out for you, ‘cause you’re always lalala-ing.”

“I’m what?”

“Lalala-ing!” Alex opens his arms in surrender, “Constantly! You know? When you don’t wanna hear and you keep singing ‘lalala!’ so nothing reaches you. That’s what you do all the time. You don’t listen to your parents, you don’t listen to your own desires and you run from them, and you certainly don’t listen to me. ‘Cause, if you did, you’d know how I feel about you.”

His eyes fixed on him, Timmy opens his mouth to say something, but when Alex looks up at him there’s so much vulnerability in his gaze that Timmy gives up and nods, inviting him to go on.

Alex nods too, swallowing hard. “I knew from the start it’d be hard for us. You were my brother, and even if you weren’t you still had your fucking head filled to the brim with that girl,” he says, throwing a glance towards Tana through the whitening glass of the window, “I kept telling myself I had to let go, that I didn’t have a chance, but I wanted you. I just did, and I thought that maybe if I had you once then I’d be satisfied and I wouldn’t have wanted you anymore, but I was wrong. Once I had you, I couldn’t let go of you. But you,” he growls a bit, clenching his fists, “You kept running away, slipping through my fingers. Whenever we managed to share one moment, just one fucking moment that was really good, like sleeping together or just be close or whatever, you always ran away. Back to home, and to your girl, avoiding me.” He lifts his eyes back on Timmy’s, and they’re sharp, now, dark and fiery, “I hated you. I wanted to hurt you. I kept wanting you close and wanting to break you, thinking that maybe, once I had broken you, you’d just surrender, and you’d come back to me, and you’d finally stay.” He looks down again and sighs, his breath condensing instantly as it slips out of his lips. “But I can’t go on this way, and you certainly wouldn’t be able to get through another minute of it, so, Timmy, I give up,” he opens his arms and looks back at him, his eyes troubled and a little teary, “I just— I give up. Now you know what’s on my mind, and I’m done playing games. I can’t stand it anymore. I’m fucked up, but not to that point. It’s hurting us too much. So do what you want, I refuse for it to be my call anymore.”

Timmy swallows hard, looking intently at him. He feels drawn towards him to the point that it almost hurts not to touch him, so he takes a step forward, getting closer to him and brushing his cheek with his thumb. “You’re right,” he says, nodding, “I’m a dickhead and I’ve been running. I wish I could say I’ve been running from my parents, or from you, ‘cause that would make things easier. When you’ve got a problem with somebody, you can always talk it out, it’s when you have it with yourself that it gets harder.” He sighs and offers him a small smile, that Alex doesn’t reciprocate. “But I wanna get better,” he says, and Alex’s lips part and tremble a bit, “We’re gonna work it out. I’ll break up with Tana, tomorrow, it’s the least I owe her. I never listened to you or myself, and that’s true, but that doesn’t mean I’ve never _heard_.”

A strangled hiccup escapes from Alex’s parted lips, and Timmy wraps his arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. Alex grabs the back of his coat and closes his fists around it, almost tugging at it for how desperately he’s clinging to him. He’s crying, but he’s not making a sound. Timmy only knows because he feels his small shoulders shake under his fingers.

“You’re an idiot,” Alex says when he wins the battle over his shaking voice, still hiding against Timmy’s chest, “It’s not as if you could make me your boyfriend just because you dumped her, we’re still brothers.”

Timmy chuckles lightly, passing his fingers through Alex’s dark hair. “Honestly? I don’t even care,” he answers.

Apparently, that’s all Alex wanted to hear, because his lips curl into a small smile, and he says nothing else.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Growing Into Trees](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686226) by [lisachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan)




End file.
